I'll Tell If You Will
by IceDynamiteDragonflyStars
Summary: Do you like horror stories? Ghosts, blood, killers? Curses? Creepy little children? Do you simply feel you've been sleeping far too well recently? Well, you're in luck. The nations are going camping and you're invited...
**Hello. My name's Icy. So, before we get into the story, some points:**

 **1: If scary stories seriously squick you out, click the back button. These ones aren't too drastically horrific, but that's only my opinion.**

 **2: The underlined text before some stories include relevant points about the story in question, such as location or possible trigger warnings. **

**3: I own absolutely zero percent of these stories. However, they are urban legends and as such, nobody has a copyright claim on them. **

**4: Enjoy and sleep well. Or try...**

* * *

It had been France's idea to go camping. It was obviously an excuse to sleep within very close proximity to the other nations, but the bosses of America, China, Japan, Russia, Canadia (or Canada? Canda? Candy?), England, Italy and Germany had taken the idea and run with it. Only France himself had been excited with the prospect of spending two nights in the middle of nowhere, England.

It had been America's idea to tell scary stories. England scoffed and sipped his tea. "Scary stories? You couldn't make it through the first two minutes of _Supernatural._ "

"So? Come on guys, Please? Just one story each? And our bosses will be happy we shared stories from our countries? Please? I won't chicken out!" He continued like this for several minutes. Eventually, the other agreed, if only to shut him up. Japan was nominated to go first – his stories had a reputation for surreal horror, and it was agreed that the scariest should go first. That way, they might get some sleep.

* * *

 **Story 1: Cow Head**

Japan was unused to having this many people staring at him and he honestly felt quite pressured. He searched his memory for a suitably scary story, fidgeting under the gaze of the others. Eventually, he found one. He cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Have any of you ever heard the Cow Head story?" There was no answer except a thick, oppressive silence.

"Well. Let me tell you. According to legend, a story called 'Cow Head' was discovered in Japan in the sixteenth century. Nobody knows who wrote it, but what is known is that it was truly horrific. Rumours say that anyone who heard the story would be so terrified that they would violently tremble for days before eventually dying of fright. The Cow Head story was deemed too dangerous and most existing copies of it were burned. The copies that survived were cut into sections. Today, only fractions of the original still exist. Most of the actual details of this story remain unknown to this day. The people who happened to read it never lived long enough to tell the tale."

America scoffed. "Psshhht. There's this horrible ghost story that kills everyone, and you conveniently can't tell it. Not very scary to me."

Japan gave him a look. It was as blank as usual, but his eyes carried a quiet threat. "I wasn't finished. One recent rumour tells of a schoolteacher who somehow came across one fragment of the Cow Head story. According to this story, the teacher was taking his class on a school trip. This teacher had a habit of telling scary stories to his children while on the bus ride. This time, he decided he would like to tell the Cow Head story. Before the first sentence had even left his mouth, the children were crying and begging him to stop. However, the teacher's face went blank and he continued as if some unknown force had taken over his mind and he wouldn't – or _couldn't –_ stop.

"Almost an hour later, the teacher regained his senses and found that the bus had crashed into a ditch. The students had all passed out and were frothing at the mouth. The bus driver was slumped over the wheel, sweating and shivering. Nobody knows what happened to the teacher or the students."

The nations looked a little uncomfortable, to say the least. Still, they'd started now. And yes, there was something exhilarating about this whole situation, although none would admit it. "Who'll go next?" America ate a marshmallow. "Cuz someone needs to beat Japan. I mean, that wasn't even scary." Nobody mentioned how high and shaky his voice was.

"I'll go, aru."

"Awright, China dude!" And so China began his story.

(Notes:) The validity of the Cow Head story is debatable. The version that Japan told is the only one that exists, the real story was either truly lost, or, more likely, created by an Internet user with free time. What is interesting, though, is that a summary of the first part of the story does in fact exist. It was originally only in Japanese, but it has now been translated. Whether this is proof that the story did in fact exist or if that too was the same or a different internet user is up for debate. And yes, I read it. It was quite creepy, but I'm okaBR%£ DN)UD+!£IMD(UHYBG!£&_O*^RT &%£WQ(^Y)M_)UJ:OPRQW$TYUMOMUNBBFfi7tbfrb0897b5rd8iil7tv^U%VE&T 9yYVI^%EC%rvbP'p/;kp98534QA$EC$%V^B&89imkjbts43(&^TBRrd68R%^BTNM_UN_8b6R*6t 0]-\,

[B&5vcev65rBN&*Y&*N)BT T^&BN&(*(H%GEVSBTNY&˜∞ﬂﬁ†&^ﬂ∞˜¶•ﬂˆ®ˇ∂éﬁˆ®˘º¨¶TN_p

* * *

 **Story 2: The Midnight Bus**

"It was late at night in Beijing, aru. A young man and an old man boarded bus 302. The midnight bus, aru. After a few stops two new passengers got on. As soon as the bus left the stop, the old man turned to face the young man with a furious look on his face. "You took my wallet!" He yelled. He was furious, aru. The young man had of course not stolen the wallet and angrily protested. The old man marched over to the young man and boxed his ears. At this point the bus driver pulled over to the curb and told them that he wouldn't tolerate fighting on his bus, aru.

"The young man of course continued to protest but the bus driver was adamant. The two reluctantly left the bus. "What the hell was that about?" asked the young man. He was pretty annoyed by this point, aru. The old man simply smiled, no longer angry, aru.

"I just saved our lives," he said.

"What do you mean?" The young man asked.

"Well," said the old man, aru. "Do you remember the other two passengers on the bus? You didn't look at them properly, but I did. Below their waists there was nothing there, aru. They were simply floating."

The young man suddenly realised what had happened. "So they were..?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, they were."

The news reported the next day that bus 302 had disappeared overnight, aru. It was months later that the bus was found crashed in a ditch. The body of the driver was still in the front seat, horribly decomposed. The bus was just as it had been, except for one detail. Instead of diesel being in the tank, it was filled with blood, aru."

Italy had somehow moved onto Germany's lap and America was using England's arm as a teddy bear. England scowled. "Get off me, you little..!" America quickly shoved him away.

"Ehehe! I wasn't scared or anything! I bet you were though!"

England poured some more milk into his second cup of tea. "Don't be silly. I'll go next."

(Notes:) This story has about five dozen different variations. In some the old man himself is a ghost too, in some the bus isn't found at all, some have more than two passengers. But the fact that a kid is dragged off a ghost – infested bus by an old man is consistent with all of them. I personally combined two.

* * *

 **Story 3: The White Death**

England sipped his tea in a superior manner. "Alright, so. There was once a young girl who hated life so much she wanted to get every trace of herself off the planet. Soon, she killed herself. Her family found her a few days later, ripped limb from limb. Now, she walks the earth alone, just as unloved and filled with self-hatred as she was in life. She has cold, black eyes that weep blood. She seems to walk without moving. You are unaware that she is hunting you until you hear her knock at your door.

"She'll knock once for you skin, which she uses to patch her own decaying flesh. Twice for your hair, which she'll gnaw between her teeth. Three times for your bones, which she'll fashion into clubs. Four times for your heart, which she'll rip out of your chest. Five times for your teeth, which she'll polish and keep in a box. Six times for your eyes, which she'll gouge out one by one. And seven times for you soul, which she'll swallow whole.

"And the worst part? She hunts down those who know about her. Which means we are all now in mortal peril. She'll hunt each of you down, knock on your doors until you're nothing but mutilated corpses." England drained his tea. "That's it." He grinned. "Who's next?"

Russia smiled a small, playful smile. "I have a story."

(Notes:) Depending on who you ask, this story took place in either Mexico or Scotland. A bit of a leap for whoever changed it. And yes, I realise that neither are actually England. But the version I heard first took place in Scotland, and I figured it was close enough. I apologise to any Scottish nationalists reading this. And yes, I may have just set an evil little girl on you, but I first heard this story months ago and I'm okay. I'll start on the next story as soon as I answer my door, this annoying little kid's been knocking on it for the past half an hour.

* * *

 **Note you should probably read even if you've ignored the other ones:** I'm gonna give a trigger warning right now. The thing is that unlike the other stories here, this one is definitely 100 percent true. Andrei Chikatilo has many YouTube videos and webpages dedicated to him, for the curious. (Says a lot about Russia that the most horrific story I could find actually happened less than 20 years ago.) Which makes it more detailed and gruesome than any of the others. So **if you're in any way uncomfortable with rape/sexual themes, skip it. It's also very bloody.** There's nothing _super_ explicit, probably just enough to keep this a T. However, if anyone feels I should move this to M, please tell me. 

**Story 4: Andrei Chikatilo – The Butcher of Rostov**

Russia looked creepy anyway. Sitting in front of the fire with most of his face shadowed, making his trademark _kolkolkol_ noise, he was downright terrifying. Needless to say, nobody was looking forward to his story.

"Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo was born in a tiny hut in Ukraine. At the time there was a horrible famine caused by Stalin forcing people to work." Russia looked almost upset, fidgeting with the ends of his scarf. China patted his shoulder. "As a kid, he and his family had to eat grass. His mother always told him that he had had an older brother called Stepan who had been kidnapped and eaten by his starving neighbors, but people don't know if this is true or if she just did it to scare him. His father was kind but his mother would beat and insult him. He had to share a bed with his mother. he used to have a betwetting problem and she would beat him whenever he did it. In school, he was bullied for being small and shy. He was shy and nervous around women too, suffering chronic impotence.

"At seventeen, he attempted to rape a friend of his sister. She was eleven. The girl got away, but he found that the violence had excited him.

"Eventually he graduated. He tried to apply for Moscow University, but his grades weren't good enough and he was rejected. He thought it was because it was because of his background instead of other people being better than him. He didn't apply to another school and instead ended up assigned to a KGB communications unit in Berlin. He joined the communist party in 1960. He eventually moved back to Ukraine and started a relationship with a girl. They tried o sleep together, but he still suffered from impotence. The girl asked her friends how they might overcome the problem, which resulted in all his friends finding out and mocking him. He tried to hang himself but was saved by his mother and neighbors. He then decided he had to get away from his homeland and ran away to Moscow, where he started lecturing about Russian literature in a university.

"His first murder happened in September 1978. He lured a nine-year-old girl into a house he had secretly bought and attempted to rape her, but failed to get aroused. When the girl struggled, he choked her and stabbed her in the stomach. This did manage to arouse him. He threw her body in a nearby river. It was found two days later. Eventually, a different man was arrested and executed for the murder.

"His next victim was a seventeen-year-old he lured into a forest by promising vodka and 'relaxing'. He threw the girl on the ground, forcing dirt into her mouth to stop her screaming, and battered and strangled her to death. He didn't have a knife, so he mutilated her body with a stick and his own teeth, chewing off a nipple. He covered the body with leaves." Everyone winced. America put down his pack of cookies. Germany looked as though he was being strangled by Italy, who was clinging to him.

"The next girl was thirteen, walking home from a shopping trip. He stabbed her neck, head and chest. There is a folk belief that a murder victim's last moments can be seen reflected in their eyes, so he stabbed and cut them out too. After this, he didn't try to stop his urges. He killed five more girls in the next three months, in the same way as the last girl. He would lure older girls with vodka or money and younger ones with food and candy. He killed a girl called Olga by persuading her to leave a bus with him. He stabbed her over fifty times and tore out her insides. But this was a mistake. All the other passengers on the bus had seen him and were able to give the police a description.

"Maybe he realised this, because he didn't kill again for a year. In this year, police had started investigating. They had decided that the murders were either done by organ harvesters, a satanic cult, or a homosexual or pedophile. Several young men confessed to the murders. None were Andrei, but it did help solve 1000 unrelated crimes. In 1984, he lured away a ten-year-old boy away from a stamp kiosk. Many people saw him.

"Meanwhile the murders got more vicious and bloody. He killed a girl called Lyudmila, mutilating her and tearing out her organs, only making wounds that he knew would not kill her immediately. Her upper lip was cut off and found inside her mouth.

"Of course the police were still investigating. They sent out many men to patrol the area. They only found more bodies. A teenage boy who had been stabbed, strangled and castrated, with his eyes stabbed and his tongue cut. His final victim was a woman called Svetlana. He was seen by an undercover police officer leaving the crime scene. He had dirt and grass stains on his coat and a red smear on his cheek. There wasn't enough evidence to get him arrested, as the body had not been found yet, but he was put under surveillance.

"He was eventually seen on public transport trying to talk to women and children. After six days of surveillance, he left his house with a jar of beer, trying to talk to children he met while out. He was arrested.

"The evidence was against him, and he eventually gave a full confession of each murder. He was able to go into detail about exactly what happened. He said that he usually started by making shallow stabs in their chest and then making deeper ones. He said that the screams of his victims were relaxing and pleasurable to him. He said he often tasted the blood of his victims. Three of the 56 murders he confessed to could not be identified or found, but 53 were confirmed. he was executed in 1994."

Russia smiled. "Did you like my story?" Apparently he was oblivious to the nausea obvious on the others' face. "No?" He grabbed a cookie from America. "Oh well. Who's next?"

France had used this as an excuse to get England and China on his lap and not let go. "Moi. I'm sure I can scare you much more than this creep."

Russia grabbed China back and smiled.

* * *

 **Story 5: The Dead Boyfriend**

England wriggled off France. "Do that one more bloody time and I swear I will strangle you with your own scarf."

France smirked. "I don't know – after my story you might be scared back on."

"Fat chance."

France shrugged and began his story. "So, one dark night in a forest outside Paris, a woman and her boyfriend are driving home from a party. The car runs out of fuel."

Everybody simultaneously groaned at the cliché. England rolled his eyes. "Really? French cars must be broken, running out of petrol in two minutes flat."

"Sssshhhh!" France pouted. "As I was saying, the car runs out of fuel. It's the middle of the night and they're far away from any buildings. So the guy gets out of the car to get help, locking the door behind him."

"And he got viciously killed?" England sighed.

"Shush! Did I do this to you?"

"No, but my story was more entertaining."

" _So anyway_ , the girl anxiously waits in the car for her boyfriend to come back. Eventually, she sees a shadow fall across her lap and looks up. It's not her boyfriend, but a crazed – looking man swinging something in his right hand. He sticks his face up close to the window and slowly pulls up his hand. He's holding the head of her boyfriend, a look of agony and sick horror still on his face. Then the man holds up his other hand. He is holding the boyfriend's keys to the car."

England snorted. "Cliché."

France slapped him, starting one of their infamous brawls. As usual, they were ignored.

Italy fearfully ate a marshmallow. It remains unknown how he did it, but this was Italy. "Germany can go next!"

"What? Why me?"

"I wanna be last!"

America grabbed the marshmallows back. "Canada's still here. And me!"

"Who?"

"Nevermind. Germany goes next."

(Notes:) Okay, this story may or may not be French. A variation I read said it took place outside Paris, but it's generic enough that it's probably seen many settings.

* * *

 **Story 6: Elisa Day**

Germany scowled. "I don't see why I need to do this. It's childish."

"Pleeeaaaassse?" Italy looked up at him. "I'll – I'll – I don't know but please?"

Germany groaned. "If you'll stay in your own sleeping bag for the whole night."

"Sí, sí!"

"Well then. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl called Elisa Day. People called her the Wild Rose because she was as lovely as the wild roses that grew by the river, a lovely deep red.

"One day, a young man came to town and as soon as he set eyes on Elisa Day, he knew she was the one. He went to her house and introduced himself. He took her in his arms and kissed her dark red lips."

"Ve~ So romantic!"

Germany shot him a look. "The next day, he came back. He brought her a single red rose and told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He asked her to meet him by the river, where the wild roses grew.

"They met by the river. He kissed her lips, then turned to the water, pointing out how beautiful the water was in the dawn light. While she watched, he grabbed a rock and viciously beat her on the head until her skull was smashed and she was dead. As she lay bleeding onto him, he whispered, "All beauty must die." Before placing a red rose between her teeth and dumping her body in the river.

"It is unknown what this man was. Maybe he was a spirit. Maybe a demon. Maybe he was simply bitter. Maybe he enjoyed having this power, seeing beauty and life fade before his eyes. It doesn't matter.

"Many people claim to have seen her ghost running along the riverbank. Her head is bashed in and blood is running down her face. She clutches a single rose in her hand."

Italy again managed to fearfully eat a marshmallow. "Are you sure I have to stay in my own sleeping bag?"

" _Yes._ "

"O-okay. I guess I'll tell next."

(Notes:) This story may or may not actually be set in Germany. The site I just read it on said it was set in Ireland, but the first I found it on was no more specific than 'Europe'. Either way I made it Germany, because I couldn't find any good specifically German ones. Also, to anyone wanting to research urban legends at night, don't. I've just been jumpscared by the same creepy picture on three different sites in the same amount of minutes.

* * *

 **Story 7: We Are Not Alone**

"Ve~ Okay! This story isn't as scary as you guys', but I think it's okay! So, there was this guy called Fortunato Zanfretta, and between 1978 and 1981 he was abducted by aliens. They were called the Dagos and they were from planet Teetonia. They wanted to be friends with everyone on Earth, except Fortunato told him they were too scary-looking and they couldn't. Kind of like Russia!"

"Kolkolkolkol."

Italy passed him a marshmallow. Russia ignored it.

"Oh, uh, so anyway, he said all of this while he was hypnotised, which means he wasn't lying, because you can't lie while being hypnotised! And his story was so detailed and made so much sense that even really skeptical people believed him."

The other nations looked skeptical too. "Do you have the details, Italy-san?" asked Japan, looking interested. Italy hung his head.

"No. But a load of you didn't. Anyway, I'm done. America can go now."

(Notes:) I tried. this was the most threatening Italian story I could find. Anyway, aliens might be a touchy subject with him as it is. I have no idea whether Fortunato Zanfretta existed, but if anyone would research it for me..?

* * *

 **Story 8: The Well to Hell**

"Okay dudes, I'm gonna tell you a really freaky story about the Commie bastard! So basically in the eighties these Russian scientists decided to drill this really deep hole in Siberia, straight into the Earth's crust. So after a while the drill broke into a void, so they lowered in some technical equipment. It was over 1800 degrees Fahrenheit. They quickly forgot this in the horror that followed."

America paused to stuff three cookies in his mouth. He deliberately chewed slowly, keeping his audience in suspense.

"So anyway. They had audio equipment for some reason and for seventeen seconds they heard nothing but horrible, pain-filled screams. They were convinced they had drilled into Hell itself. But that's not all! That night, a huge gas bubble emerged from the hole. Some say it was just a natural thing, but others swear that it was a horrible winged figure."

Russia almost frowned. Instead, he giggled. The giggling was actually worse. America gulped. "S-so, Canada now?"

"Who?" It was almost simultaneous.

"He's been there this whole time. He has my sexy French hair."

Murmurs of 'Ooooh, right' and 'Yes, him' followed. Canada looked pleased to even be remembered.

"Okay, I have a story."

(Notes:) Alright, it wasn't set in the US. But I still get the feeling that it wasn't the Russians that made up the story even so.

* * *

 **Story 9: Be Careful What You Watch**

"So. A group of high school girls are at their local video shop, arguing over movies. They notice a blank video and on a whim decide to steal it. They run back home, put in in their video player, and press play. Immediately, the power goes out, but the video plays anyway. On the screen is a disturbing picture of a woman being burned at the stake. Her skin is blistering and peeling off, her fingers are charred and she's screaming in agony. She shouts out that anyone watching it will die within two days.

"48 hours later, the girls are killed in an accident when their car strikes another vehicle. What's odd, though, is that the other vehicle was never found."

The other nations looked fairly creeped out by this point. "So, that's it then." America rested his chin on his knees. France had managed to get England back on his lap. Both were sporting prominent black eyes. Italy was clinging to Germany like a particularly stubborn limpet. China was hugging his panda, trying to look mature and collected with Russia using him as a pillow. Japan was quietly drinking a cup of tea.

Canada nodded. "I guess we go to bed now."

(Notes:) Nobody said this was Canadian, but meh. Nobody said it wasn't. No location was given.

* * *

Italy doesn't uphold his promise to stay in his own sleeping bag. The others do, but they find themselves unconsciously moving closer, whether for warmth or out of fear is unknown. If asked, however, they will all say warmth. Outside, a small figure knocks on the tent. A larger one stalks past, two large, lumpy objects in his fists. A slim figure dashes past, dropping blood and petals as she passes. Other small figures stalk past, dropping blood and all manner of organs in a gruesome parade. Another two figures, these without legs. Finally, yet more children, all sobbing, begging some unknown thing to stop some unknown action.

Or maybe these are simply dreams. I'll leave it up to you to decide.

* * *

 **I'm marking this as complete for now, but if I get enough feedback I might continue with some other countries' stories. So reviews would be nice.**


End file.
